


Produce Flame

by leomundstinyhut



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: M/M, Magic learning, Snowed In, Two Bros Chilling in a Tiny Hut Five Feet Apart But They're Still Gay, clothes swapping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-14
Updated: 2019-02-14
Packaged: 2019-10-28 13:43:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17788478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leomundstinyhut/pseuds/leomundstinyhut
Summary: “Hallo Nott. Everything is okay. Fjord and I are using my hutt to hunker down until the snow stops. We’ll be back as soon as we can.”A pause, almost certainly Nott relaying the message to the others. Then:“Just until the snow stops? Do you have enough food? How will you keep warm? No, Jester, I’m not asking him youcanreplytothismessage.”“We ate right before we left. We have a fire. We are safe from the cold.” He elbows Fjord when his companion says something about ‘my ass’ and bites back a smile. “Whatever it is Jester is asking, it’s almost certainly ‘no’.”Another pause. “Alright. If you need us to come get you just let us know. It won’t be but an hour! Stay safe. And warm. With Fjord.”---It starts snowing when Caleb and Fjord go out for spell components. For the Widofjord Valentine's Exchange!





	Produce Flame

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pfaerie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pfaerie/gifts).



> HEEEEY everyone! Finally, my first work for Critical Role, which has taken over my life. I decided to get my butt into gear by jumping into the Widofjord Valentine's Exchange, which was great for me, bc I love to work with prompts.
> 
> MY assignment was the lord of Widofjord and all-around incredible artist, Jayce! It was a little nerve-wracking writing for someone I admire so much, but I hope they enjoy it!!! <33
> 
> Also 1) I know produce flame is a druid cantrip and 2) if you think for one second that would stop Caleb Widogast you got a big storm comin'.

Well. There are no two ways about it.

“We are stuck,” says Caleb, rapping his knuckles on the wall of his hut with a soft sigh. “There is no way we can travel in this.”

Fjord, standing beside him, gives a visible shiver and shifts in place, bracketing his body with his arms. His exposed skin looks more blue-tinged than normal, though that might be Caleb’s imagination. “Where did it even _come_ from? Everything seemed fine and dandy when we rolled outta town!”

“Weather is unpredictable.” Caleb frowns, placing his fingertips against the glass-like interior of the dome. He watches white fog materialize around them from his body heat. “It could be magic… but I do not think so. I think it is just bad luck.”

Fjord works his jaw a little and sighs, rubbing his biceps with his hands. “... Any idea when it’ll stop?”

“You are asking me? You are the sailor between us. Aren’t you supposed to smell it on the wind, or something, Captain?” Caleb replies, and, despite himself, turns a small smile onto his friend. Fjord meets his eyes with a dry look; it only serves to quirk Caleb’s mouth a little higher.

“Yeah, well, we didn’t really get a lot of snowstorms out on the high seas,” Fjord grumbles, though his expression softens slightly when Caleb huffs in amusement.

“No, I suppose not. You could not exactly wander around in the snow without sleeves. Apparently.”

Fjord shivers again, even as another grumble rises on his mouth. “I ain’t built for this.”

They were only supposed to be gone for a couple of hours. A quick mission to gather a few spell components from the forest nearby town; Fjord had offered to accompany him to dodge being dragged into town to shop instead.

Spell component gathering was boring at the best of times, but it needed to be done, and the less expensive, the better.

That explained the small pile of tree bark, various plants, and the singular sparrow feather near the corner of Leomund’s Tiny Hut.

It did not explain this weather.

Caleb is unsurprised when, around five minutes after he expected to be back, Nott’s voice rings in his ears.

“Caleb! Where are you? You don’t usually take this long. Did you see the snow? Are you having fun with Fjord youcanreplytothismessage!”

A breath of exasperated laughter draws Fjord’s eye, and Caleb demonstratively pulls his small copper wire to his mouth. Fjord mouths a silent ‘ah’.

“Hallo Nott. Everything is okay. Fjord and I are using my hutt to hunker down until the snow stops. We’ll be back as soon as we can.”

A pause, almost certainly Nott relaying the message to the others. Then:

“Just until the snow stops? Do you have enough food? How will you keep warm? No, Jester, I’m not asking him youcanreplytothismessage.”

Fjord shuffles a little closer, hands tucked in his armpits. “What’s she sayin’?”

“Shh.” Caleb pats him good-naturedly on the shoulder, ignoring the bemused look he receives. “We ate right before we left. We have a fire. We are safe from the cold.” He elbows Fjord when his companion says something about ‘my ass’ and bites back a smile. “Whatever it is Jester is asking, it’s almost certainly ‘no’.”

Another pause. “Alright. If you need us to come get you just let us know. It won’t be but an hour! Stay safe. And warm. With Fjord.”

Something about the way she intones that last sentence makes Caleb warm in a grumpy sort of way, and he shoves the copper wire back into his coat with perhaps more force than necessary.

 _She thinks she’s so clever,_ he grumbles internally, studiously ignoring the fact that she had correctly seen right through him.

Fjord quakes in his periphery. Caleb watches him do a little steppy dance in the small space he’s standing in and bites back another smile; Fjord had been good-natured about his teasing, but best to not continue to poke at him.

Instead, Caleb considers him for a long moment, shivering and rubbing his arms, before clapping his hands together, once. _“Ja,_ okay.”

He firmly doesn’t look at Fjord as he peels off his jacket, and also firmly ignores the almost immediate protests Fjord begins making. “Here. You can wear this while I get the fire going,” he says, holding out the ragged brown thing with one hand and looking somewhere near Fjord’s broad jaw. “It… well, it is not the _warmest_ thing, but it is better than no sleeves, surely.”

Fjord makes a mild spluttering sound. “I can’t take your jacket, Caleb. I’m fine, it’s fine— you should keep it.”

A touch of embarrassment begins to creep its way into Caleb’s ears. _Of course he does not want to wear your jacket,_ he berates himself quietly, _it is filthy, and probably too small, and— ._ Gritting his teeth against the immediate kneejerk reaction to retreat into himself, Caleb wiggles the jacket. “I run hot, it is fine. It has a fur lining. I know it is not the— the finest equipment you’ve probably ever worn, but it will help.”

He chances a look at Fjord’s face, just for a moment. The other man looks conflicted, and then thoughtful, and then abruptly flustered. “It’s not _that—”_

Caleb is close to simply tossing the thing on the snow and saying ‘fuck it’, but before he can, he feels Fjord reach out and grab it. The relief that blossoms in his blood is embarrassing, twicely so when Fjord finally murmurs a ‘thank you’, and Caleb simply grunts and turns away without looking.

_Ridiculous._

Caleb moves toward the fireplace and bends down to hide his burning cheeks.

Though he’s been repressing it as best he can, there is little to deny to himself any longer when it came to his particular feelings about Fjord.

Foolish, absolutely, and he knew better than to ever believe anything would come of it. But sometimes Fjord looks at him and smiles, or touches him (always somewhere simple, a shoulder or an elbow — barring two very specific occasions that he’d best keep out of mind), or simply says his name, and the flowers that bloom in his stomach are more electric than even the most potent lightning spell.

He’s not an idiot. He’s been so hopelessly enamored before, after all.

He has just apparently learned nothing from the first time.

Caleb uses his embarrassment as a distraction from the creeping, ever-present fear he feels when he casts a fire spell, and arranges the fireplace quickly. A snap of his fingers brings the wood to blazing, and Caleb leans back, rocking onto his heels with a small sigh of relief as the burning in his face is replaced with a more welcome warmth.

He feels the weight of Fjord looking at him on his back, and, controlling his facial expression, turns to meet it.

Fjord is, indeed, looking. His face is molded into the kind of wistful fascination that sometimes cropped up when he was privy to Caleb’s magic. It’s, admittedly, a look Caleb is ashamedly and secretly rather fond of receiving. For just a moment, he forgets he is only capable at magic because of years of dedicated training under a monster, forgets the many ways in which his power is used to harm and to destroy; he only feels the way Fjord is fascinated by him, the way he can feel the interest and curiosity from his friend. Fjord has become less vocal about it as of late, but that’s fine, as Caleb never had a proper response, anyway. The searching, golden look is plenty enough to briefly warm him to his roots, every time. A plant starved of sunlight given just a moment by the window.

Caleb would be paying more attention to it if it weren’t for the fact that Fjord is also wearing Caleb’s jacket.

It is… somehow not completely ridiculous. Fjord is, of course, much broader than Caleb in almost all aspects — no, all aspects, period. But the jacket was a couple of sizes too large for Caleb, anyway. It definitely doesn’t fit Fjord, but he can at least close it, which he has done. A cold little kitten, fluffed up against the chill.

His fingers are holding onto the sleeves to keep them tucked around his wrists. Caleb tries not to find that completely and irrevocably charming and cannot find the will to do so.

Fjord doesn’t seem to notice the infatuated inspection, because of course he doesn’t.

For all his endearing qualities the man seems about as aware of his hold over most everyone he meets as he is Caleb’s heart thumping in his chest. So not at all.

“Ain’t you handy in a pinch,” the man murmurs now, and Caleb snorts, giving himself an internal shake and dragging his eyes from the way Caleb’s furred collar brushes Fjord’s cheek.

“A cantrip. It is nothing.”

Fjord’s expression flickers in a way Caleb can’t quite place, and Caleb braces himself for the compliments he both disagrees with and still enjoys. “Not nothing. If you weren’t here I’d be freezin’ my ears off. Heck, if it were anyone else here, I’d still be shiverin’.” He moves closer, ostensibly to get warmer by the fire, and crouches down beside Caleb. He holds his large hands out to the flame with a noise not unlike Frumpkin after getting his chin scratched. “Thank you. For the jacket. It really is warm.”

Caleb focuses on the sharp points of his black fingernails, feeling his eyes trace down the broad fingers to where Fjord’s skin is now exposed by the too-short sleeves. He has removed the armor from his arms, leaving only his fingerless gloves to provide a modicum of warmth. The wrists look soft peering out from the cuffs, gently speckled in light and dark green, almost like freckles in the firelight. Caleb swallows, and doesn’t think about bringing one to his mouth to kiss and bite at as he turns to find Fjord looking imploringly at him.

 _Ah. Right._ Fjord had just complimented him. Usually when this happens, someone interrupts, and they can move on without Caleb actually having to confront it. _None such luck._

Caleb slaps a small, bashful smile onto his face and looks back into the fire, unable to hold Fjord’s gaze without more intimate thoughts about the contrast of gold on green dancing through his mind. “Well… it has served me well for many years. I am glad it fits you.”

Fjord smiles sweetly, pulling the jacket a little closer around him, and Caleb clears his throat. “But making the fire is a simple spell.” He flicks his gaze back up, shrugging once and reaching up to adjust his scarf. “You could probably learn it, given time and practice.”

Fjord’s expression turns into a thoughtful one. “I was never really clear on the whole… who could learn what thing. I know I got some spells you can’t do…” He snorts, lifting his hand and flexing it once, twice. “Not that it’s really _my_ spells, I guess. Stuff U’kotoa has given me. Not like you.” He looks up from his palm to meet Caleb’s eyes again. “You just learned it yourself.”

Unexpectedly flustered from the mixture of admiration and simple kindness in Fjord’s tone, Caleb fiddles more with his scarf, only mildly relieved when Fjord’s eyes drop to watch his hand. “Not… _all_ myself. I had to learn _how_ to learn, _ja?”_

“Ah, fuck that. Just from since I met you you’ve learned so many new things. So quickly.” Fjord’s voice is quiet, and as he shifts, his knee bumps Caleb’s. Caleb becomes abruptly aware of how close they are, sitting by this fire, and feels his ears burn again. Curse Fjord and his complete inability to recognize how hopeless Caleb is. _No, don’t curse that, you’d both be miserable if he knew._ “No amount of teaching can write off how damn talented you are.”

“Fjord,” he grumbles, heat rising in his face. Fjord looks undeterred, just making an exaggeratedly grumpy face back at him.

“Caleb,” he grumbles back in the same tone, though the corner of his mouth flirts with a smirk.

 _Why does he have to be so earnest?_ Exasperated, but helplessly gone all gooey on the inside, he bumps Fjord’s knee with his knuckles. “Anyone can learn magic, given dedication and time. Though, for the record…” He flicks his eyes back up to Fjord’s face, and the smile he finds he’s wearing is much more natural. “... U’kotoa may have given you your power, but it is still yours to do with what you want. The big scary eyeball is not the one out here throwing around Eldritch Blasts and Thunder Stepping all over the place. Your magic is just as impressive as mine.”

Fjord looks as if he wasn’t expecting the conversation to turn on him. “Ah, you know… I guess, but it’s not the same. You had to work for your stuff… sometimes I just… wake up and can do some new freaky shit.”

Caleb hums, shaking his head. “You may not have to spend hours memorizing spells, Fjord, but even discounting magic… you have worked hard for all the things you can do. You may not have noticed, but I’ve perhaps let other things go untaken care of in pursuit of my magic. You are skilled in swordplay, in charming people… you are levelheaded in almost any situation… your body has taken some maintaining, of course…”

Fjord’s brows lift, and Caleb blinks, realizing what he’s said. “Ah, that is… I’m… what was it you said, once? Squishy. And you are… rather not. Is what I meant.”

The smirk has returned to the corners of Fjord’s mouth, though he does, at least, look like he’s valiantly fighting it. “Nice of you to notice,” he manages, and it’s even almost steady.

 _Scheisse._ Caleb clears his throat and rises to his feet in a swift motion, looking away and pressing his hands to the small of his back in a desperate attempt to soften the tension thrumming through him. “Everyone notices besides you,” he mutters, and steps away from the fire, rolling his wrists.

Fjord makes a sound behind him, but Caleb flaps a hand as he firmly puts the conversation back on track. “In any case. I find your magic impressive, even if you do not believe you have earned it. It has protected me on more than one occasion… pulled me from the brink... and kept me safe.” He turns, meeting Fjord’s eyes and trying to convey his sincerity. “You are talented, in more ways than one. Truly. Some of the things you have done… amaze me.”

It is, perhaps, a mildly selfish kind of pleasure he takes in seeing Fjord’s face go a shade or two darker. He stares at Caleb with big eyes and ears drooped just a touch in what appears to be surprise; Caleb watches his mouth work around words he doesn’t manage to voice. He tells himself it’s purely amusement and not attraction that keeps him looking.

“Um… that’s… mighty kind of you, Caleb.”

Caleb smiles, a touch too gentle for it to feel completely right. “No. I am not a man for baseless kindness. It is simply a fact, _mein Freund.”_

Fjord seems to have no response for that. He simply clicks his mouth closed, looking at him, and then sets his jaw. Caleb silently praises himself for (for once) turning the tables on his fellow. With a satisfied huff, he goes and gathers his spellbook, returning to the fire and sitting beside Fjord once more.

“If you’d like to learn to make a small fire with magic, it is… a simple enough matter. You could learn it. I could teach you, if you wish.”

Fjord makes another noise, though less embarrassed now. “... I don’t wanna be an imposition,” he begins, but Caleb waves him off again.

“Nonsense. You are never an imposition.” He bites his tongue between his teeth for a moment, cursing his sudden inability to say things with no feeling behind them. “I would be honored,” he adds, a safe modifier.

After a moment, Fjord scooches himself closer. His golden eyes are still unnaturally bright in the lowlight of the little room. “How long do you think it would take?”

Caleb hums, considering. “Well… you are familiar with the act of casting spells, even if you are unfamiliar with the learning of them. I think once you were taught how to read it, became comfortable with the basic maneuvers… there is no real way to tell how long it would take. I would not mind, between jobs… working with you on it. However…” He gestures to their surroundings, a rueful smile growing on his face. “It is not as if we have anything else to do, now, anyway.”

Fjord, strangely, gets a glint in his eye that quickly reorients itself before Caleb can decipher it. “S’pose not,” he agrees lowly. There’s a tug of heat in Caleb’s gut at the tone, and at the way Fjord neatly slots an arm behind him, effectively tucking Caleb into his side. Fjord leans over his shoulder, peering into the book opened on Caleb’s lap. His breath brushes Caleb’s ear as he speaks again. “No time like the present.”

Caleb manages to keep the smile on his face, but only barely, trying not to let his foolish, skipping heart get the best of him. “Ah, _ja._ Here.” He shifts the book so the pages are a little more visible. Fjord stays put, and though the fire is just before them, Caleb only really begins to feel the warmth now. He can sense it when Caleb’s jacket opens around them both, somehow making the small space that the hut provides feel even smaller.

He clears his throat and flips to the front of the book, where the simplest spells are, and locates the appropriate cantrip a little more slowly than he normally would. _Distracted._

“Here it is. I call it ‘Produce Fire’.” He taps the spell on the page, and Fjord snorts; Caleb feels it against his back.

“Creative,” Fjord teases.

“Oi.” Caleb elbows him gently in the chest, and the other man huffs out a snicker. “When you are the one casting it, feel free to call it... ‘Blazing Saddles’, or… ‘Sailor’s Savior from the Snow’. Or whatever.”

A grumble. “Hey now _._ No need to pick on my affliction with the frankly hellish weather. Besides, I was thinkin’...” He pauses, ridiculously, for dramatic effect. Caleb feels a thrum of affection, unbidden. “... ‘Fjord Flame’.”

Caleb can’t repress his own laugh, then, turning to wrinkle his nose. “Oh, that’s somehow worse. Terrible. I’ve decided I can’t teach this to you anymore.”

Fjord wrinkles his nose back, a grin quickly growing on his face. “Betraying me! What if I just take your fancy spellbook and learn it myself?”

“Oh, _very_ scary. You could not take this book from me if you tried.” Caleb smiles fiendishly at him, a glow of mischief helplessly fluttering to life in his breast.

Fjord leans in, suddenly, and drops his voice into a growl that is probably meant to be playfully intimidating. It very much is not having the intended effect. “Yeah?”

It’s like the fire has caught his clothing ablaze. Caleb swallows, and tries to listen through the blood rushing in his head like a fireball. Fjord’s presence behind him feels like the slow drag of fingernails up the column of his spine, tender and slow, the way he abruptly imagines it. Goosebumps blossom on his skin. The hair on his neck lifts where Fjord’s careless breathing curls across it like flower petals. “Oh, I am shaking in my boots,” he says, and it comes out dreadfully, tellingly soft.

Fjord’s grin falters, drops into a searching, curious expression that sends Caleb’s nerves into overdrive.

He looks like he is about to say something, or maybe do something. Before he can, Caleb’s fright takes a death grip on his stomach and yanks his face back around like a physical force. “Come, now.” _Too loud._ “Whatever you choose to call it, you must learn it first.”

Silence, and then, a low sigh. Relief? It must be relief. “Right.”

Willing his thrumming chest to stop beating out a drum solo, Caleb closes his eyes tight, controls himself, and then spends several minutes teaching Fjord the correct way to read the spell.

It’s not something someone can learn in one evening, and Caleb lets Fjord know that.

“If you are able to produce flame by the end of the night, I will do a jig out in the snow. Naked.”

The response of “Uh. Promise?” is met with a snowball direct to the chest.

Caleb discovers that Fjord murmurs softly aloud when he reads and has to physically restrain himself from eating his own shirt.

Still, there is more to a spell than reading. Eventually, Caleb has to pull himself away from Fjord’s warmth to sit across from him. Fjord readjusts when he does so, letting their knees brush between them, almost certainly thoughtless. As all the careless ways he made Caleb’s lashes flutter most certainly were.

Shaking it off (once again), Caleb lifts his hands and wiggles his fingers.

“Cantrips are strange,” he begins. “They are almost mindless once you know how to do them, but to someone who has never produced magic from themselves before, it can be complicated to know how to channel it.” Caleb twists his wrist and slips his fingers together in an imitation of a snap. “ _Ja?_ Like so. They are simple spells, so the associated hand motion need never too complicated… over time, you do not need to use them anymore. But for young wizards… doing something to help pull the magic from you can be helpful.”

Fjord is watching him carefully, as if he does not see Caleb do magic all the time. The scrutiny is both mildly nerve-wracking and also inordinately thrilling. “So you use it kinda like a physical way to do the mental thing?”

“A good student already,” Caleb demures, and Fjord’s answering smile is gentle and genuine.

“Are there specific movements that help with specific spells? Like… spreadin’ your fingers or… I dunno.” His eagerness is like a balm to Caleb’s uncertainty; despite himself, he… well. He supposes it feels nice to be… regarded as someone to learn from. To feel important and worthy of listening to, even if he struggles to really take that to heart.

He clings to that feeling as he bullies his way through his next few sentences. “Sometimes. Fire spells, for example… I feel them more when I move my hands upward.” He works his jaw for just a moment before demonstrating, doing the hand motion again but completing the snap, letting a small flame lick at the ends of his thumb and forefinger. “Snapping also helps. Me, anyway.”

Fjord watches the fire for a moment before flicking his eyes back to Caleb’s over the top. He looks like he’s considering saying something, and Caleb feels a drip of dread in his gut.

His friend is no fool. Fjord has surely noticed his discomfort around fire, as they all have. Though Caleb has not yet told anyone outside of Nott and Beau the real circumstances of why, it cannot be a hard thing to put together that something has happened to him involving it. And he is… not ready, to talk about it now. It isn’t that he doesn’t trust Fjord, or thinks he doesn’t deserve to hear it… it is just…

It’s nice. To pretend that they do not have to discuss it. Even for just a while longer.

There is no way to know if Fjord sees something in his face, or if he simply reconsiders his words. “... Like you’re lightin’ a match.”

Relief, however mild, is a much better alternative than delving back into his history. Caleb huffs, fighting a smile. “Mmh… I had never considered that, but… _ja._ How very astute of you.”

Fjord doesn’t bother fighting his own smirk, even as his eyes on Caleb are still thoughtful. “That’s what they call me. Astute Fjord.”

Before he can stop himself, Caleb chuckles, meeting his friend’s gaze and feeling, as ever, pulled forward. Fjord is… like a blossom the way Caleb is like a bee. _You understand so much about me without ever pressing too hard,_ he wants to tell him.

 _I think you are much more clever than you realize,_ he wants to say.

 _If I had not had the impulsiveness ripped from me, I would kiss you,_ he wants to confess.

It is… strange, to feel like this again. To want to reach out and cup someone’s face, to hold it like a treasure, to map it out with his fingers like a spellbook. To want to know him, to understand and feel that understanding in him like knowledge he could keep forever, like something he could pull to him without thought and feel glowing in him like all the magic he had ever cast.

Caleb has not ever wanted someone the way he wants Fjord, though. Astrid and Eodwulf had been his childhood companions; close proximity to people in your developing years would naturally promote close bonds.

But there is nothing clinical or scientific or easily explainable in the way he wants to drag his lips across the scar that cuts through Fjord’s eyebrow. It is pure attraction, simple and clean, but also hopelessly intricate. He had not always harbored such feelings for the man, however long he’d found him handsome, but somewhere along the way he had found himself twined like kudzu across the way Fjord laughed and spoke and held himself. His strength, and his weakness.

Fjord… he was flawed. He was undeniably flawed, sometimes reckless and thoughtless and awkward.

But Caleb had tripped over Fjord’s mistakes and gone tumbling down the staircase, landing in the fact of the matter that Fjord was not the pinnacle of anything, and yet somehow… he was what men should strive to be.

He was all the things Caleb was not. It was almost depressingly predictable of him to fall for someone nothing like himself.

“Caleb? You alright?”

He is dragged from his reveries by the man himself, and blinks, refocusing on his companion with what he hopes is a sheepish look and not a caught-out one. “Ah. My apologies, I… zoned out for a moment.” He flicks the fire from his fingers.

Fjord’s look is serious. “Copper for your thoughts, then, because that was some serious zonin’.”

Scrambling, Caleb snatches up the first excuse he can think of. “Simply imagining a world where they actually call you ‘Astute Fjord’. What a topsy-turvy place.”

Blessedly, Fjord lets him have the out with a mock-offended scoff. “What, you sayin’ I ain’t?”

“There are perhaps some things you haven’t always been entirely aware of.” Caleb tries to hide his smile behind his fingers. “It is not a bad thing. Sometimes it can be used in your favor.” _And in mine._

There is a moment, then, when Caleb feels a change in the windless air between them. Fjord continues looking at him, the playful frown slipping into a more thoughtful one.

“I think,” he says, slowly, “you might be a little bit right and a little bit wrong.”

Ah. Something low under Caleb’s ribcage gives a shake. Caleb’s mouth opens without his meaning. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” Fjord says, still slow, like he’s considering his words, “I feel like maybe I’ve been missin’ some things I wish I hadn’t.” Looking very uncertain but with a firmness around his mouth, Fjord lifts a hand and places it on Caleb’s knee.

Caleb stares at it, at the wide, very kissable wrist peeking out from the sleeve.

“So maybe… if I’m not reading something… you could clear it up for me.”

 _Scheisse._ The jig is up. Caleb stares at Fjord’s hand, wondering how he’d given himself away, what he’s said wrong, what he’d shown in his eyes that he’d tried so hard to keep off his face. “Ah,” he says, unable to look up, unable to even rip his gaze from the way Fjord’s thumb slots neatly into the bend of his knee.

Fjord swallows loudly. “Or, uh, if I’m just fuckin’... uh... illiterate or something, you could tell me that now, too. If you catch my meaning.”

“This metaphor is becoming convoluted,” Caleb murmurs, mind hyperfocused on nothing, on discovering where he slipped. Was it the happy acceptance of Fjord coming along with him on this little excursion? Was it the blood pact those weeks ago? Had it slipped out of him so early on, in their reunion after the Shepherds? How long has Fjord known? How long has he guessed, before then?

“Caleb,” Fjord says, with a kind of exasperated weariness. “Just tell me if you want me to take my hand back, and we… can pretend this never happened.”

Caleb blinks, his overworking brain suddenly coming to a screeching halt. “No.”

“No?” Hesitation; nervousness.

“No, I mean— I.” Helpless, Caleb looks up, focusing somewhere on Fjord’s throat, unable to bring himself to completely meet eyes with him. “I mean. Do you… want your hand back?”

There’s a kind of sweeping in the air between them, like electricity, but kinder, something that sparks on the tongue and settles like sugar. Caleb abruptly realizes it’s Fjord’s soft laughter. “Um…” His voice wiggles. Caleb can recognize his nerves only because he has heard them before, every time Jester began spouting poetics about her romance novels. “I mean… probably. Eventually.”

“Oh.”

“But… if you’d like it right now, I can, uh… you can borrow it for a hot minute.”

Caleb cannot help but look up now, terrified he is somehow completely misinterpreting this. “Are you saying I can have your hand?”

“I don’t fucking know what I’m saying,” Fjord says, and his face is dark with a blush, now that Caleb can bring himself to look. His pupils are big and his ears are pinned to his head; he looks flustered almost as much as he had in the cave with the smut reading, but he is also smiling vaguely like a madman. Caleb can see the tips of his new tusks peeking from his mouth like little distracting pinpoints, and oh, it almost hurts how much he wants him. “I’m so bad at this. Caleb, I’m just the worst.”

Struggling with the hope suddenly choking him in his throat, Caleb looks back down at the hand on his knee and, with careful fingers, places it between his own. “Perhaps the frostbite is getting to you,” he murmurs, and lets his hands glow hot with magic as he rubs Fjord’s rough palm gently between his fingers. “This is what you wanted me to do with your hand, _ja?”_ He looks up with a tremulous, small little smile.

Fjord’s expression, when he peeks, is slack-jaw. Caleb privately admits to a moment of absolute fear before, suddenly, Fjord’s eyes light up brighter than he’s ever seen them, like maybe Caleb has cast the fire spell through him, somehow.

“Uh-huh,” he mumbles, and as Caleb makes another pass with his hand, he moves his fingers to lace the pair of them together. Palm to palm; it should be familiar, but it sends a thrill up Caleb’s tailbone straight to the base of his skull. He and Fjord have touched each other in any number of ways over the months. But this… there is an intimacy here that no amount of internal hand-waving could completely ignore.

“Ha,” Caleb breathes.

“Yeah,” Fjord says back, scooting closer so their thighs brush on either side. After a moment, he lifts his other hand up, brushing the backs of his knuckles against Caleb’s cheek. “I think my face has frostbite, too,” he says, with a lilt to his voice that says he’s trying to flirt, and despite himself Caleb laughs. The hope bubbles over like a waterfall.

“Oh _ja?”_ Caleb lifts his other hand as well, lets the heat magic take over his palm again as he cradles Fjord’s jaw. “Here?”

He feels like a schoolboy, following his impulses and letting his mind go blessedly silent. How long has it been since he touched someone simply because he wanted to?

“Mmh,” Fjord purrs, leaning into Caleb’s hand and then turning his face into it. “Actually, my nose is fuckin’ freezing.”

Caleb, with a wheeze, obligingly puts his thumb on Fjord’s broad, strong nose, feeling like he is petting a particularly friendly cat. “So… here.”

“Mmmmhm.” Fjord peers at him from the corner of his eyes, all slit pupils and golden irises. “Among other places.”

“Oh yes?” He may need to check with Caduceus when he gets back to make sure his heart is still in working order, with how quickly it’s been beating the past twenty minutes. “Where else?”

Fjord doesn’t answer; he instead leans forward and pulls Caleb’s face to his.

It is brief, and dry, and gentle. Caleb has been kissed exactly four times in his life, and they have all been quite similar, but there is something to this one that makes his twine his fingers into the top of Fjord’s curly hair, smile into it so broadly that Fjord can no longer actually kiss him.

“Sorry,” he breathes, cheeks stinging, once Fjord seems to realize this, but Fjord simply scoops him closer and nuzzles against his neck. Caleb closes his eyes and wraps his arms around Fjord underneath the dirty brown jacket, staring up at the roof of his tiny hut as his companion makes contented, cozy noises his jaw.

Caleb has always loved cats.

“You shoulda told me you were a fuckin’ furnace,” Fjord rumbles, pressing his cold lips to Caleb’s throat. “You’re so warm. I’m not moving. You been holdin’ out on me?”

Delight is a feeling Caleb has not been familiar with in some time. He knows it will fade; in the back of his mind he is already preparing for the other shoe to drop, the backlash, his eventual punishment for this. But he cannot let it consume him now; for once, he wants this fire to burn and burn and burn until it leaves none of the old rot. He wants to be this forest with Fjord, to let new things grow.

It is a nice fantasy, anyway.

“On many things, it seems,” Caleb responds after his brain sluggishly realizes he’s been asked a question. “But maybe you can forgive me.”

“I guess,” Fjord grumbles against his neck, true to his word and completely motionless. Caleb’s magicked hands slide through Fjord’s hair and then down to the nape of his neck. Some part of him wonders if he’s dreaming, but the low, warm sigh Fjord breathes against his throat goes skittering down into his shirt and Caleb feels white hot joy light him up from the inside again.

It appears he’s going to need a little time to settle back into himself. Caleb thinks that sounds wonderful.

 _“Kaltes kleines Kätzchen,”_ Caleb murmurs into his hair, grinning at his own little joke. Fjord makes a little grunt in question, but Caleb just bends and scritches his nails across the buzzed back of Fjord’s head.

By the time the snow stops, Fjord has risen from his cavern only three times. Luckily, these times were to warm his apparently very cold mouth, and Caleb finds himself very happy to oblige him. Caleb, truly, doesn’t notice that they can leave until Fjord is partway through kissing him a fourth time (less dry, less gentle, much less brief) and is interrupted by a shrill voice in Caleb’s head. Caleb puts a hand between them, pressing the tips of his fingers to Fjord’s mouth and trying his best to ignore the way Fjord immediately begins nipping at them.

“Caleb! The snow has stopped! Are you on your way back! Are you still okay! Did you get eaten! You’ve been very qu— youcanreplytothismessage!”

Finger nipping. Very distracting. Caleb gives Fjord a stern look that sets him to simply kissing them instead, which, really, isn’t much better. “May I have my hand back?”

“Do you want your hand back?” Fjord parrots, and Caleb scoffs and pushes the man’s face away, ignoring the squawk he receives for it.

“Hallo Nott. Yes, I’ve noticed the snow has stopped.” He also ignores the snort Fjord makes as he burrows back into Caleb’s throat. “We are both fine, and are headed that way now.”

“Are we?” Fjord lifts his head once more, and Caleb drifts back down from his dreamstate slowly, realizing that Fjord has actually put his hands in Caleb’s armpits now. Charming.

“If we do not there will be questions.”

“There’s gonna be questions anyway,” Fjord grumbles, but he does slowly pull back, looking faintly like a hangdog puppy as he rocks back onto his heels.

Caleb stares at him, at his hard mouth gone soft with kissing, his blood-flushed face and slightly disheveled hair. “I’m not sure what you mean. You just look like you got _very_ into component collecting,” he teases, feeling lighter than he has in years.

Fjord gives him a flat look that stays firm for about 2 seconds before immediately melting back. “You bet I did,” he rumbles, and pounces.

If they do take a little bit longer to get back to the inn than strictly necessary, well. At least they stay warm the entire way.

 

* * *

 

 

Nott confronts him immediately, pulling him aside as the pair of them enter the inn. Fjord is accosted by Beau and Jester, who begin immediately laughing at him for a reason Caleb doesn’t catch.

“So? Did you stay warm?” Nott whispers, in as much as she can whisper at all.

“Ah… _ja._ There was a fire, remember.” Caleb valiantly tries to keep a straight face, but again, Nott is too clever.

“... Uh huh.”

“What?”

“Caaaaay-leeeeb! Did you give Fjord your coat??? That is _so cute!”_ Caleb feels his entire body heat once again as he slowly turns to find every single member of their crew staring at him. Sans, of course, Fjord, who has his face buried in his hands.

“Ah,” Caleb says, “right.”

Maybe Nott is not as clever as he thought. Maybe he is, in fact, just a bit slow on the uptake when it comes to this sort of thing.

But as Fjord peeks at him from between his fingers, the edges of an embarrassed smile curling up one side, Caleb supposes that some magic can remain a mystery.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me at my [twitter](https://twitter.com/leomundstinyhut) and [tumblr!](https://poes.tumblr.com)


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